


The bank of the Vaitarini

by randomdestielfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Case Fic, DCSS 2017, Dean/Cas Secret Santa 2017, Human Dean Winchester, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Police Officer Dean, Rated For Violence, Sort Of, supernatural is known
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-06 09:51:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdestielfangirl/pseuds/randomdestielfangirl
Summary: “Someone’s trying to open the gates of hell,” Rufus states blandly.There’s a pause as Dean waits for the rest. It doesn’t come.“And?”“And we think there may be demons involved.”Dean's job as a Special Officer: Supernatural Division doesn't promise much - just the odd poltergeist or hobgoblin. When he is called upon to help an Angel trying to prevent an invasion from the denizens of hell, who can blame him from leaping on to it? If only said Angel wasn't so distracting...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cupidsbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupidsbow/gifts).



> This was a last minute pinch-hit, and I was thrilled to select this prompt - 
> 
> "I'd enjoy an AU in which the Supernatural was public knowledge and Dean and Sam (and Kevin, Charlie, Claire, Jody, Rowena, Mary, Jack, etc) are bona fide field agents for Winchester Investigations or a similar agency. How would that change the meeting and friendship between Dean and Castiel? Would Mary and Deanna and John still be alive? What would they think of Dean working with an Angel? And most importantly, how would Dean handle nosy reporters wanting the scoop on their cases? If you're vidding, it would be awesome to see a vid done in a kind of hard boiled or detective style. But really, anything on this theme of the supernatural being known would be awesome, so don’t feel you have to stick to my suggestions."
> 
> I loved it so much, I plan to make it a mid-length story, but as I got into it so late, I really couldn't finish it before the deadline. I do hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Beta-read by the lovely [Rachel](https://woahthisguy.tumblr.com/). All other errors are mine, sorry!

Dean suppresses a sigh as he reaches his desk. His mouth smarts from the too hot coffee bought from the Biggerson’s down the road, an establishment that always had only two coffee options, hotter than the surface of the sun or laxative warm. It wasn’t as if Dean had high expectations from his morning brew - unlike his gigantor brother, who has to have it with freshly ground coffee beans, fair trade, sulphur-free raw sugar, milk that came from cows that ate all organic grass while frolicking in meadows, topped off with a dash of unicorn tears.    

“Wow, you look like shit,” said Kevin, one of the newest, smartest and snarkiest interns the Supernatural Division of the Bexstone Police had ever hired, his arms loaded with approximately two tons of paperwork.

“That’s enough out of you,” Dean grumbles as he adjusts his damn chair that threatens to give way every time he so much as breathed loudly. It squeaks alarmingly as he attempts to get the seat a few inches higher.

“Back to back cases?” Kevin asks him, and to Dean’s horror, dumps about half of his paperwork on Dean’s desk, “Don’t look at me, you were the who didn’t file incident reports for the past week and a half. You didn’t even fill up a first information report for the gnome stuff yesterday.”

“Those gnomes weren’t even doing anything serious!” Dean protests, almost knocking over the vintage hula boy bobblehead his mother had given him last Christmas as a stocking stuffer. He manages to grab it before it falls, knocking over some paperwork in the process.

“I thought they were holding the family’s pet rabbit hostage.”

“Mrs. Upman demolished part of their burrow to plant her petunias,” Dean says, adjusting the tiny ukulele, “She knew that there was a gnome burrow on the edge of the property when they bought it.”

Kevin hums, watching Dean wince as he picks up the paperwork and piles it haphazardly on the desk, “How did you get the rabbit back?”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Don’t even ask.”

As members of the Supernatural Division, they weren’t supposed to use any undue force to restrain ‘peaceable,’ supernatural humanoids. And considering the average gnome weighed less than twenty pounds and came only up to Dean’s knee, force would have been unreasonable. But trying to establish order with about half dozen gnomes trying to pull his pants down? There was nothing more he wanted than to kick those little fuckers across the yard.

Kevin smirks, “Well, at least it’s out of your hands now, right?”    

“Yeah, well, she dug up their house, but they stole her pet. Both parties broke the contract saying they were to steer clear of each other, so it’ll go into mediation now, I guess.”

“Winchester! In my office, now!” Rufus’s voice booms, and Dean suppresses a groan. Bexstone isn’t a huge place, and with budget cuts in the department, there is hardly anyone other than Dean to go out into the field.

In his parents’ time, things were exciting. His dad dealt with ghosts, shifters, even the odd vampire or two. His mom was a legend, with most of her family in the force, one of the best officers the Bexstone Police ever had before she ‘gave it all up to play house’ according to her disgruntled father. The comment earned Samuel Campbell a drink in the face from his wife and Mary storming out of the house with a bewildered Dean and baby Sam.   

Dean grew up listening to his parents talk about cases, dreaming of becoming an officer just like them. It was different during their time with security measures not being as streamlined and efficient as they were now. Everyone wore silver protection charms on a daily basis, most people salted and burnt family members’ mortal remains  _ before _ burying them, and with some factions of creatures deciding it was better to work with humans and try and live peacefully together, the sort of cases that came Dean’s way were disappointingly free from danger and any sort of glamour.

Rufus’s office is down the hall, past the broken coffee machine (that was supposed to be replaced by the council six freaking months ago) and their ancient copy machine, already on its last legs. Dean wonders what they’ll do if that breaks down. He passes by Jo’s empty desk, wondering why she’s late.

Rufus is fidgeting with his mouse, clicking through something when Dean enters. His frown is deeper than usual, but Dean chalks it up to the older man’s usual hatred of working with technology. Dean’s no fan himself, but even he can see it’s better to use a computer than go back to the manual filing system Rufus keeps trying to persuade them all into periodically. He doesn’t even look up at Dean’s arrival, muttering to himself about _ tables and fuck this poncy shit _ .

“You called?” Dean asks him loudly.

Rufus looks up, his expression murderous, “Got a new case for you, boy,”

“Don’t tell me, water nymph keeps colouring someone’s bath water blood-red? A haunted tea kettle bought at a yard sale? Cat up a tree?” Dean sneers, squeezing himself into one of Rufus’ ridiculously tiny chairs.

“Don’t get mouthy or I’ll have you  _ handwriting _ everyone’s reports.”

Dean shuts up.

“Someone’s trying to open the gates of hell,” Rufus states blandly.

There’s a pause as Dean waits for the rest. It doesn’t come.

“And?”

“And we think there may be demons involved.”

It’s like pulling teeth, trying to get Rufus to talk. “And?”

“And you’re going to stop them.”

“Who gave you this information? Why is the  _ Bexstone Police _ involved in this?” Dean asks him, “This is huge, why isn’t there a nationwide alert?”

Rufus rolls his eyes, “It’s not exactly the end of the world, boy. Gates have been opened before. One as recently as seven years ago in the Philippines.”

Dean stares at him. “Rufus, over a hundred people died when that happened.”

“I know, and  _ you’re _ going to make sure that this one’s not going to open at all.” 

Dean bursts into laughter, then stops when he notices Rufus is not kidding. “Well I’m flattered you think I’m think the  _ chosen one _ or something, but -”

“I don’t,” Rufus says dryly, “but apparently some highly reputed psychic in the FBI was contacted by an Angel alerting them about the gate - ” Dean’s  _ wait, what _ is ignored as Rufus glares at him, “ - and Dean Winchester was the name given by them. It’s supposed to be highly confidential, so for the love of all that’s holy don’t go around blabbing it out.”

Angels? Angels asking for him? Dean has only heard of Angels: they tended to be completely non-interfering unless demonic activity was involved, during which their smiting was swift and merciless. And they rarely took human forms. Not many people even knew they existed at all, and the only reason Dean knew was because his father knew a hunter whose great grandfather had once encountered one.

“I’m going to need just a little bit more information than that. Where do I start? Do we have any clues at all, any - ”

“If I knew anymore, I’d tell you,” Rufus interrupts, “And I never said you were gonna work alone. Now if you’re done complaining, I’ll call him.”

“Call who?”

“The Angel we’re supposed to contact.”

Dean closes his mouth as Rufus folds his hands with a long-suffering sigh and closes his eyes.

“I pray to thee, Castiel, Angel of the Lord.”

Nothing happens.

“Uh, Rufus...” Dean begins cautiously as the other man looks around, “You sure that’s the right away to summon an Angel? I’m sure it involves a lot more than - ”

Then there’s a small flutter like the rustling of leaves. A man pops into existence right beside Rufus. He’s dressed in an ill-fitting, crumpled suit paired with a cheap looking blue tie that’s tied on backwards. That, along with the beige coloured trench coat he wears makes him look like a homeless hobo. He looks nothing like what Dean imagined him to be. 

“Rufus Turner.” The man, no,  _ Castiel _ says, his voice surprisingly low and deep. Rufus nods, waving him over to the chairs. Castiel stares for a long moment then slowly and awkwardly places himself on the lilliputian seat with infinite care like his whole body is made of porcelain,  

“This is Dean Winchester, one of our best officers.’’ Dean gapes at Rufus as he says this, but the other man doesn’t seem to notice as he continues, “He’s going to be working with you on this.”

Castiel turns to look at him, and any wisecracks Dean was about to make disappear beneath the weight and intensity of that gaze. There’s a buzzing in Dean’s ears as he stares back, all thought of propriety forgotten. Castiel’s eyes are blue, bluer than anything Dean’s ever seen before. His dark hair is wild and unruly, his lips pink and full, his jaw is sharp enough to cut glass . But it's the eyes, eyes that bore into Dean’s soul with the force and clarity of a thousand suns, eyes that crackle and gleam with unrestrained power, blue, blue eyes that Dean finds himself unable to look away from. He’s simultaneously the most devastatingly attractive man-well man-like creature that Dean has ever come across, but at this point Dean doesn’t know if he’s aroused or intimidated. Probably both. 

Rufus clears his throat loudly, and Dean jumps a little, startled. His heart is thumping wildly, and he tears his gaze away from Castiel, trying to get his act in line.  _ Angel, Angel, he’s an Angel, he’s off limits, stop leering before he smites you. _

“Now would be a good time for some exposition then,” Deans says, his voice a little hoarse. 

“It is not easy to open the gates of hell,” Castiel says, “There are several known ways, and several special places upon this planet where one has entrances to the pit. All entrances have seals placed on them, traces of ancient magic left by God himself when hell was sealed at the beginning of time. There’s one a hundred and fifty three miles away from this spot, between the cities of Lincoln and Brookly.”

Rufus roots in his drawers, opening out a large scale map. He unfolds it onto the table, smoothing out the cracks. Castiel stands up, considering the map for a minute before placing his finger on a completely empty spot in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing to distinguish it from the flatland - no vegetation, no hills or ridges.   

“And someone’s broken into this one?” Rufus asks Castiel. 

“Not yet,” Castiel says, “but there are definite disturbances around the entrance, weaknesses in the seal. They are attempting to chip away at it.” He spots the calendar propped up on Rufus’ desk and picks it up. “There’s going to be a lunar eclipse in ten days, and it is a particularly potent day to attempt a break in.”  

“So why do you need us?” Dean asks him, “I mean this is angel business, you don’t need humans to help you.” 

Castiel turns his laser gaze back to Dean. “Normally we wouldn’t need a human’s help, no. But the ones trying to open the gate are not creatures with power or demons, but humans.”

“So?” 

Castiel hesitates, clearly considering his answer. “Angels neither harm nor help humans. We have nothing to do with you. But if a human is attempting to release abominations into this world, then we are forced to act, as our orders from God are clear. We are to contain demonic forces, to keep them at bay.” He pauses, “we do not however, have the right to eliminate human beings, unless it has been proved beyond a doubt that such a human is a threat to the equilibrium in this world.”

“Okay,” Dean says, “okay, that makes sense.”  

Castiel steps closer to Dean, squinting thoughtfully. 

“You were the one chosen by my superiors,” Castiel says softly as Dean gulps, feeling the goosebumps rise, “So you will accompany me. And yet, I do wonder…” he trails off, watching Dean’s red, red face.

“He’s all yours,” Rufus says, but Castiel doesn’t turn to look at him, “You still need to report to me, Dean, but don’t reveal who Castiel is to anyone, including your family.”

“Okay,” Dean says dazedly, “When do we start?”

Castiel tilts his head, assessing. 

“Now.”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Pass not beneath, O Caravan, or pass not singing. Have you heard  
>  That silence where the birds are dead yet something pipeth like a bird?_

“So, where to?” Dean ventures to ask as they leave Rufus’ office.  

Castiel glances at him. “I won’t exactly know until something happens.”

Dean almost asks him to explain, then thinks the better of it. “Okay then, here’s what we do. We go to my place, pick up all of my gear and then head out towards the gate. Sound good?”

Castiel nods. “Alright.”

To Dean’s dismay, they run into Jo at the entrance. She looks a little frazzled, her blond hair pulled into a messy looking braid, but her whole face lights up in devious glee when she spots Dean.

“Hey Dean, heard you got molested by a bunch of teeny weeny garden gnomes!” she says, “Mrs Upman was  _ really _ impressed by your  _ work _ . Wouldn’t be surprised if she knocks over another part of that burrow just to avail your services again.”

“Your superior was right about your abilities, I am pleased to have been paired with someone so competent.” Castiel says sincerely as Dean groans.

Jo throws back her head and laughs manically. There’s a piece of spinach stuck to her teeth. Dean feels petty enough not to inform her of this fact. “And who are you? Another one of Dean’s fans? I’m Jo Harvelle.” She sticks her hand out for him to shake. Dean wonders how she’s looking into those eyes with such ease. Castiel does nothing, just stares at it with fascination before taking it in both his own.

“I’m Castiel.”

“Whoa where are you from?” Jo asks him, not bothering to withdraw her hand.

“He’s FBI.” Dean says hastily.

“Seriously? What’s the FBI doing here? And what’s Dean doing with you?” Jo asks them, looking from one face to the other.

“I cannot reveal our purpose.” Castiel says blandly. Jo looks skeptical.

“And now we’re on our way to go do something important, so goodbye Jo.” Dean says bluntly before she can open her mouth, feeling a vague and completely irrational stab of jealousy at this extensive hand holding.   

Jo raises her eyebrow, but disengages herself. “Alright but I want to hear the full story soon, Winchester.”

“Yeah, yeah, have fun at mediation with the gnomes today.” Dean says, enjoying the look of horror on Jo’s face.

He skedaddles before Jo can start screaming, a very bewildered Castiel at his heels.

+

“Your home is very airy.” Castiel says formally, looking around Dean’s sparse living room with interest. He’s openly curious, opening and closing cupboards, lifting and examining the few photographs and books Dean has stacked on various surfaces.

Dean looks up from where he’s shoving a shotgun into his bag. “Yeah, my brother - when he moved in with his girlfriend they needed some stuff to start with, and I didn’t need any, so ummm,” he trails off, ducking his head to avoid Castiel’s piercing eyes.

“Your brother, he is also a Police Officer?” Castiel asks him, peering at a picture of him and Sam as children at a funfair. Sam’s holding a big red balloon, and Dean has a smear of chocolate on his left cheek.  

“Who, Sam? Nah.” Dean says, frowning when he sees a line of rust circling one of his trusty daggers. “He never wanted to be a cop - hated Dad talking about his work. Things were a bit different then, people hunted all kinds of Supernatural creatures, even if they weren’t hurting anyone. And Dad’s - Dad’s side of the family, they’re a bit old fashioned. Sam hated it - kept arguing about more regulations and stuff - it wasn’t pleasant dinner table conversation. He’s studying to be a lawyer now, him and his girlfriend Jess.” Dean shuts up and zips his bag, wondering why he can’t seem to stop babbling. 

“I see.” Castiel says. There’s a flicker of interest in his eyes. “What is your opinion?”

“On tighter regulations?” Dean asks him, hauling the bag on his shoulder. “I agree with him. I mean, I know I complain that my job isn’t exciting enough because of the change in laws, but in my parents’ time we were just murdering for the sake of it.” He pats his pocket, checking for his wallet and phone. “You ready to go?”

Castiel stares thoughtfully at him for a moment before nodding.

+

The drive is pleasant, with Castiel nodding politely at Dean’s assertions that cassette players were the only way to go. He even seems to enjoy Dean’s music, with none of the bitching and whining that Sam made whenever Dean played  _ Ten Years Gone _ three times in a row. Dean talks and talks, a nervous habit he’s unable to get rid of whenever he’s attracted to a man. With women, he’s smooth and suave and confident, regardless of how attractive they are. A great looking guy? Forget it. Sam has a ridiculous theory about how he’s still a little repressed, how he’s still playing Daddy’s good little boy for John, who never openly commented upon Dean’s bisexuality, but always pointedly ignored Dean’s flings with men. 

Castiel however, is simultaneously the most wonderful and awful listener Dean’s ever had. He shows no impatience or annoyance as Dean jumps from topic to topic, even interposing with questions from time to time. He even manages a tiny smile at one point, a smile that lights up those beautiful eyes so wonderfully Dean almost crashes the Impala. The problem however, is that he listens so  _ attentively,  _ as if Dean’s rambles about Sam or the Impala or the movie from last week are the most important things in the universe. It’s flattering, yet deeply unnerving, and Dean’s almost glad when Castiel tells him to stop the car. 

The gate is surprisingly close to the road, taking them only fifteen minutes of trudging through the undergrowth to get there. Castiel leads the way, occasionally stopping to touch the odd bush or pick up a twig. 

“This is it?” Dean asks Castiel when the Angel stops abruptly. 

“Yes.” Castiel bends down and presses his palm on the earth, long fingers combing through the dirt, throwing a tiny pebble aside. 

“Uhhh,” Dean says after a minute or two, “how can you tell?”

Without warning, Castiel straightens up and grabs at Dean’s wrist, pulling him close. Dean stares at him, knees threatening to buckle, mouth dry. There’s barely enough space between them to slide a coin through.    

“Listen,” Castiel says, lower and softer than ever, and dear lord  _ his voice _ . 

“To what?” Dean asks him, also whispering though there’s no one around for miles. He can hear nothing but his own heart frantically thumping, the midday sun beating down their heads, the drag of a drop of sweat as it slides down his back. Castiel’s eyes are intensely focused on him, expectant and terrifying like that one calculus quiz he flunked back in high school. “I can’t hear anything.”    

“Precisely.”

Dean stops gaping at Castiel and really  _ listens _ . There’s nothing, not the rustle of leaves, the call of a bird, the footfalls of small animals. 

“Not a single soul dwells in the earth below or the skies above this spot,” Castiel says mildly, “the gate may be invisible to mortal eyes, yet evil seeps from its fathoms, palpable enough to discourage every living creature.”

“Is the seal holding?”

Castiel gives him a humorless smile as he catches Dean’s eye. “Not for long.”

+

They head to a motel in Lincoln.

“But I do not require sleep,” Castiel protests when he sees the room, “and you do not require it either, not for another five and half hours.”

“Motels aren’t just for sleeping,” Dean protests as he throws his gear on to one bed, cringing when he notices the complete bewilderment in Castiel’s eyes. “We can’t talk about world ending stuff in public, come on Cas,” he hastens to add, wondering if the random nickname made it worse. 

“Oh, of course,” Castiel says, “humans tend to eavesdrop.” 

“Angels don’t?” Dean asks him, mildly offended. He places his laptop on a tiny table, one of its legs wedged with a wad of newspaper. It doesn’t help with the wobble.  

“We do not have forms,” Castiel says, walking over to where Dean’s sitting trying to hook up the cables, “and we cannot keep secrets. Any communication to be made is directed to all of us, we merely have to will the thought into existence.”

“Like a hive mind?” Dean can just imagine the look of gleeful curiosity on Sam’s face if he could hear this. “Must suck, having no privacy.” 

“Something like, yet not so,” Castiel says, “it is difficult to explain. Also, Angels do not require privacy.”

“Jesus,” Dean swears, opening his laptop, “what do we do next? What are we supposed to be looking for?”

Castiel bends, peering at the screen. “Can you give me information about the animals in this area?”

“Sure, like what?” 

“Everything. Any animals found dead or missing? Strange illnesses? How many have been abandoned or adopted recently? What breeds, what colours, what -” 

“- Basically you want to access the databases of every single animal shelter and farm around here? What about wild animals? Roadkill?” Dean interrupts.

“Those too.”

“Over what time period?”

“The past two weeks should be sufficient,” Castiel says, then adds hesitatingly, “will it be too much trouble?” 

“Officially? It would take me days to get you the info because of all the departments involved,” Dean says, then smiles when Castiel looks concerned, “but don’t worry Cas, I know someone who can help.”

+

“Sure you don’t want all of this translated into Khuzdul as well?” Charlie bitches at him over the phone when he calls her. She always gets mad at him when he won’t tell her  _ why _ he wants information. Jo and she are clearly a match made in heaven. 

“Listen, can you do it or not?” Dean asks her, knowing this would piss her off just enough to get the job done, no questions asked. Castiel is not listening to him, intently focused instead on the television, mesmerized by the buxom young woman who is promising viewers that they too, can have a waist like hers if only they’d buy the Deluxe Sauna Slim belt 2.0. Dean vaguely wonders what the 1.0 version was like. 

“Pffft, give me two hours,” Charlie says, and Dean grins, “don’t think I’m going to just let this go though. You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“Thanks Charlie, and I will, I swear. Just not.. Right away.” 

“Is Jo involved?” she asks him suddenly, “This job is safe, right?” 

Damn she’s perceptive. Castiel frowns thoughtfully as he changes the channel, landing on a shitty romance from the forties. “Of course it is, Charlie, when have we ever had any dangerous cases? And no, it’s just me on it, Jo’s off mediating with gnomes.”

Charlie snorts, then abruptly turns serious again. “I’ll call you when I get the info, alright? And Dean..”

“What?”

“You can call me if you need me or Jo, okay? We’ll be there.”

Dean smiles fondly into the phone. “Getting a little soft there, my Queen.”

“Shut up.”

“Bye Charlie.”

The saccharine looking couple on screen are weeping copiously as they embrace, and Castiel is starting to look concerned. Dean takes the remote off him. 

“Your friend said they could help?” Castiel rumbles, his focus back on Dean. 

“She said she’ll need a couple of hours,” Dean says, “what are we looking for?”

“Opening a gate has several methods, but all of them generally start with animal sacrifice. Based on the species involved and the method of killing, if we can find out, I can guess at the next few steps.”

Dean grimaces. “And if Charlie can’t find anything useful?”

“We have other options,” Castiel says, “Unusual weather patterns in the surrounding areas, accidents, geological disturbances -”

“- but all of those could be even ghosts or regular old monsters.” Dean protests. 

“I’m not saying all of it will be relevant,” Castiel says patiently, “but if we can just find the thread…”

Dean sighs, motioning Cas to the laptop. This was going to take a long, long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Vaitarini river is said to lie between the earth and hell, according to Hindu and Buddist mythology. It is equivalent to the river Styx.


End file.
